


Mathematical

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Kevin Tran, First Time, M/M, Sexting, Size Kink, Top Sam Wesson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-04 00:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13352421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: Brainy Kevin Tran's first step onto campus has him crashing into beefy Sam Wesson and they can't seem to pry themselves apart, after that. Despite Kevin's jam-packed schedule, he makes some room for Sam in his life (and some other places).





	Mathematical

**Author's Note:**

> From this prompt by my writing master, hellhoundsprey: "If Kev's helicopter mom knew what Sam and him got up to after actual tutoring, his balls would be right among the trophies over their fireplace. Kevin doesn't say 'no' a lot and for the first time Sam's with someone who's even more clingy than himself. He doesn't hate it. Not one bit."

Sam Wesson's got one of those big man on campus kinda deals going on, literally and figuratively, but so literally that Kevin Tran runs face first into Wesson's chest the second he takes a step out of the safety of his mother's car. It's a solid wall of muscle and the nicest smelling t-shirt and a deep laugh so so close.

Kevin's dimly aware his mother continues yelling out the car window while he backs up and looks up.

(and up and up)

-“Hey, easy, kid.”

-“That's my son! You watch it!”

“You alright there?”

Kevin focuses there instead, on this sweet voice and those dimples and that caveman brow. His lips are thin and candy-pink and Kevin can't get a read on his eyes. Maybe it's the light, maybe it's the lack of oxygen from having the wind knocked out of him.

“I'm fine,” Kevin half-gasps at last and his mother is still yelling so he turns and bellows the same thing at her and as predicted, _no one else's mom_ is dropping them at the curb to the mathematics building.

He holds his breath and stares at the huge human in front of him until the car behind screeches away, finally, finally.

He's still staring and how do you stop anyway, in the face of this?

“You sure you're okay?” the biggest guy in the world asks and the voice (softsoft) betrays the dream body.

“Yeah, I just - “

“Was that your mom?”

“Yeah,” more reluctantly, “She insisted.”

Skepticism, a shrewd surveyor behind hazel (green-brown makes hazel, yes? But there's gold – what's gold?) eyes. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” sighs out of Kevin and his backpack feels an enormous weight, rocks in his pockets while he walks out to sea. “I'm supposed to be here, I swear. I'm not sneaking onto campus or anything.”

“Didn't think so. Most kids sneak in for parties, not classes. And most kids that sneak in don't have their parents dropping them off.”

“Right.”

There's an interval of staring and Kevin's at a loss. He doesn't do anything, doesn't introduce himself or ask this guy's name or ask for directions or any of those things he should do. He does nothing but stand there and blink up at this giant against the sky and trees and feel teeny tiny, a minnow in the ocean.

“Okay, see you around. Be careful.”

Kevin watches him walk off.

Right into the building where his first class is, so, what the hell.

Kevin follows his broad shoulders, notes his messenger bag (worn-in leather), the lacrosse stick on his back (he's probably the captain), his easy stride and his litany of waves. He knows everyone and everyone knows him.

And he walks into the classroom where Kevin's due.

Kevin checks the print out schedule frantically again. Again, again.

He's in the right place.

He sneaks in the door and creeps up to the back row of the modestly sized auditorium.

The big guy's at the front, and for a breathtaking second, Kevin wonders if he isn't the teacher. What a terrible first impression and _on a teacher_ and no, no.

Kevin's just sitting, just taking his computer out when the actual teacher comes in, and big guy takes the seat beside her table. He's an assistant. He scans the crowd of students, sees Kevin, waves. Waves and crinkle-smiles and outside of a test, Kevin's never had his heart pound so fast in class before.

He doesn't take the notes he should. He's going to have to explain that to his mom and hope she ignores the blush. All he retains from the first day's lecture is _Sam Wesson, teacher's assistant, fifth-year senior_ and that his legs stretch out forever.

Once it's over, Kevin tries to leave out the door right by his seat but it's locked and it's like there's a monster coming up behind him, horror movie tense, the handle jiggling uselessly in his fingers.

“They lock those. Security or something,” a voice says and it's that voice from before, of course of course.

Kevin spins around, heavy backpack almost knocking him off kilter as much as those eyes crinkled in a smile again.

Sam tilts his head a little, points a finger. “You're Kevin Tran, right? The super-brilliant overachieving high school kid who's name keeps popping up in the math department?”

“Yeah, that's me,” Kevin winces inwardly, any and all attention making his guts squirm but doubly so from Sam fucking Wesson.

“Well, your reputation precedes you. And also, the department head asked me to touch base with you, do a little extra tutoring outside of class, to make sure you're up to speed. But I'm pretty sure you are, so it's just a kinda formality. You know?”

Oh no, no no no, Kevin cannot have that. He cannot imagine himself sitting in a room with this behemoth alone for a number of reasons. But he squeaks out, “Yeah, sounds good,” and Sam smiles again or still or whatever, and that's how it starts.

 

The college library is enormously big, bigger by far than the cozy high school library Kevin's used to.

The private rooms are nice. Booked by the hour like a cheap motel and they have to know people are fucking in there, don't they?

Sam Wesson's big body fills up the room and makes it tiny, doll-sized. His legs don't fit under the square table, stick out long and meaty in the sweats he prefers.

This routine is three weeks old; Kevin sits down beside him, smells the sweat in the air and asks, “Good work out?”

And Sam says, always says, “Yeah, not bad. Leg day,” because Thursdays when they meet are always leg day. Then he stretches his legs a little further out, groaning in sore-muscle contentment. “You oughta get in there with me one day. We can beef you up some.”

That's new.

The thing he says and the huge hand squeezing Kevin's shoulder.

“Whoa, dude,” Sam mutters, squeezes harder, his face questioning frown. “Dude, you're like, ripped there.”

Kevin snorts, flushes, knows he isn't ripped compared to Sam. “Uh, yeah, martial arts since I started walking.”

“No shit,” Wesson's curious and his roaming hand even more so, reaching Kevin's chest effortlessly. “So, what, like, karate?”

“Wushu,” he answers sheepishly, brushing floppy bangs out of his eyes. Hates talking about himself, achievements or no, hates it forever. “Like, uh, close combat stuff, mostly.”

And Sam's big paw on his chest is beyond distracting. A few well-timed movements and he could slap it off, hell, have Wesson on the ground at his mercy but this is too nice. Gentle exploration and the door is shut, locked and shut and -

“So you could like, drop me in a second, right?” Sam asks with a smile and Kevin returns it.

“Yeah. I wouldn't though. You've still got like, a hundred pounds on me.”

“You hidin' a six-pack under there?” Same smile, same huge hand moving down to the hem of Kevin's sweater, joke-tugging and then not.

A flash of skin peeks out above Kevin's belted jeans, cold air replaced immediately by the intense heat of Sam Wesson's bear paw. The goosebumps aren't about the cold.

“You are,” Sam says like he's discovering something secret and marvelous, spreading his fingers out and that's all of Kevin's cut stomach under his palm there. “Shit,” Sam sighs and he's so close now, a burning heat.

“It's nothing,” Kevin stammers and he means it's nothing compared to Sam, a walking wall of muscle and meat.

The fingers travel up higher and no one has done this before, just touched him to touch him and it's dizzying and he's going to get hard and ruin everything. This is friendly, right? This is just dudes being dudes, bros having fun and chilling.

“You're hot,” Sam says, his voice pitched lower than before, sudden secret realization in his tone.

Kevin would laugh, if he could, but all he is is a bundle of heavy breathing, faster and faster and he knows Sam feels it.

“You are, dude,” Sam says like he knows the incredulity is there and he wants to fight it head on. “I wanna...”

Kevin's near panting, eyes flickering where Sam's go, to the door and, “It's locked.”

“So.”

So.

Kevin moves fast because if he thinks about it too much, he won't move at all. Twists and loops one arm around Wesson's neck, slides over right onto Sam, right on his lap and he has no idea what the next move is.

Sam is sweet and slow, spidery fingers and a big body heaving underneath him. It's amazing how hot he is, sauna-warm even through clothes. Unquestionably, Sam kisses him first, one huge hand on his face, the other still pulling restlessly at his shirt.

This is all they do for the next two weeks of tutoring. Math goes by the wayside and Sam assures him he doesn't need the private lessons anyway. Sam flatters him a lot, like that, and he can't get used to it. Spends nights staring up at his ceiling thinking about it, about all the things Sam's said.

This Thursday, the air feels charged. It's a full moon, maybe it's that,or maybe it's all the time they have apart, half-together in classes but not really really together. Staring, smiling, not touching. It's a lot.

Kevin walks in first to their usual library room and feels Sam hot behind him, crowding him big and thoroughly vexing. Kevin spins right into him, collides like the first time and climbs him like a tree, like he wanted to before, like he kind of always wants to.

“Mmmfuck,” Sam laughs, kisses him through it and gets his hands under Kevin's thighs until he's completely wrapped around Wesson's body. “We should fuck like this,” Sam says.

Kevin groans and drowns and wants to die in the mere suggestion of it. “I-I've never - “

“Fuck,” Sam swears again, sits them down heavily on the nearest chair and grabs Kevin's ass in two big handfuls. “Never? D'you like...fuck yourself, at least? Cause your ass is great, god fucking dammit, I wanna...”

“Does it even matter?” Kevin huffs, buries in the sweet heat of Sam's neck, licks at his driving pulse. “My hands are like...”

“Here,” Sam whispers, holds his hand up and Kevin puts his own against it, palm to palm and the difference is astounding, Sam's fingers spanning so much wider and longer that Kevin actually gasps.

And fingers nothing, he isn't unaware of the jut of Sam's hard cock in the usual sweatpants, proportionate to the rest of him or maybe even a little bigger, goddammit. Goddammit, he wants it, wants Sam Wesson to tear him right open and stitch him right back up.

“Do you want it?” Sam asks and Kevin can't say, just nods against his skin and mouths at his pulse again, feels it pick up and up under his tongue. “I'll go slow, I can go slow, I promise, it won't hurt it'll be good it'll be so good- “

Sam babbles and Kevin nods about all of it, everything.

“I want to see you more,” Sam says, higher, desperate maybe.

Kevin mentally accounts for his rigid schedule, moves blocks of time around in his head while Sam tugs his jeans down. He'll gladly leave off the Mandarin lessons, the Vietnamese, knock the wing chun down to once a week if it means more of this.

“Fuck, I bet you're tight,” Sam mutters, his fingers scrambling at the cleft of Kevin's ass and tugging him apart, just barely brushing over his tight hole. He clenches even tighter, some magic making Sam's one finger feel twice, three times as big. “Right pocket, lube.”

Maybe he'll drop the improv classes his high school counselor suggested, an annoying Monday night appointment he dreads every time, clinically designed so he 'comes out of his shell' and 'builds confidence'. Maybe he can take his driving test early and eschew those lessons to free up his Fridays, two Sam days in a row.

He's thinking hard at all of this and blindly following Sam's instructions, reaching into his pocket for the wrapper of lube. His fingertips brush Sam's cock and it lurches in his pants, huge and hard. That, that's going inside of him. Not today, but someday.

* * *

 

It takes another two weeks.

They start eating lunch together in the meantime, when schedules allow. And texting. Which evolves into sexting and Kevin's got like, zero experience but he's pretty damn sure Wesson is some kind of nationally ranked dirty talker. Keeping up proves challenging but Kevin finds out pictures are a good stand in when he's speechless. He loses count of how many he takes for Sam, how many mirror contortions he does. Shame goes out the window.

On a good night, he manages four of his own fingers up his ass, tented together and lubed heavily. Fingerprints of it smear on his phone but it's so worth it. Four of his fingers are like two of Sam's, though but every little bit helps.

So two weeks gone, just another Thursday (leg day) and Kevin's the one working out, straddling Sam's tree-trunk torso with his thighs spread wide, his fingers struggling to close around Sam's chest, sliding down his abs. He's hard everywhere, his dick especially, pressing on one of Kevin's ass-cheeks, smearing him wet.

He's already dripping from the lube and dripping sweat because Sam's got three of those marvelous fingers up there, three and it's a record. Some dicks are that big.

“Ride it, ride it,” Sam implores him, his head tilted back against the frosted glass window. His face is red, sweat clinging to the curly edges of his hair, candy mouth open and panting.

Kevin flings both arms around Sam's neck and shoulders and doesn't think, just moves as instructed. Sam's fingers feel bigger like that somehow, static while Kevin fucks himself on them. It's easy to move like this, easy and fun and he's smiling, grinning ear to ear while he does it.

“Can't wait for your dick,” he says with cheeks blazing, proud he managed to squeeze that out at all.

Sam groans and that reward is worth any lingering embarrassment. “Can't wait to get it in you, jesus christ. All I think about. All I jerk off about anymore, Kev, I swear. Just wanna sink right in and - “

Kevin can't stand it anymore, shoves a hand between them to jerk himself off, fast and rough and four strokes and he's coming, Sam's words unheard in the rushing-buzzing but he still feels the vibrations, jamming his head into Sam's shoulder. He's still talking, he's _always_ talking.

“ - I wanna – just the tip, just for a second, okay? Okay? If it hurts I'll - “

Kevin nods, doens't know what he's getting into until both of Sam's hands clamp onto his ass and spread him apart, lift him up with the effort. He clenches at the empty for a half-second and then clenches around the thickness and heat like he's still coming and maybe he is.

“Oh fuck, oh _fuck_ ,” Sam chants and trembles and grabs harder at him. There's effort there not to shove in, effort in the shaking muscles.

Kevin appreciates that, really. He latches his mouth onto Sam's pulse and it races away fast. He grinds down barely thinking, just wants more _more_.

He gets it.

Sam gasps, moves up an inch and Kevin's never been so full or content, can't stop clenching just like Sam can't stop throbbing and he feels it, feels every inch and pulse and oh, _oh_ , that's Sam coming. That's a hot gush and a flood and Sam panting like he's running a marathon.

“Shit, I didn't mean to – didn't mean to get in so far, I didn't - “

“It's okay, it's fine,” Kevin assures him, kisses up to his mouth and inside and now they're throbbing together, one big vein in total sync.

“You're so fucking tight, I just - “

“I know, I know - “

“Ah fuck, I want you to come over, come to my place,” Sam says into his mouth, his big hands skimming up his back, holding him airtight. “Come over and I'll make you dinner and I'll...I'll fuck you everywhere. Bend you over the counter - “

Kevin laughs soundlessly against him, barely aware he's grinding again, taking in incrementally more and more of Sam's enormous dick.

“And fuck you in the kitchen. Then the couch, I wanna just like...hold you - “

“And then fuck me - “

“And then fuck you. Or maybe just blow you there, 'cause I wanna fuck you in my bed. I wanna fall asleep with you on me, I wanna wake you up with my dick in your mouth.”

“Saturday night,” Kevin sighs, just now noticing Sam hasn't softened inside him at all, that Sam's starting jerking little thrusts back into him and they're going to go again, never stop maybe. “I'll sleep over, I've got time.”

He's done the math in his head and there's room for this, enough downtime to shoehorn Sam Wesson into his life.

“Saturday night,” Sam repeats back, grinning against Kevin's mouth, licking inside while he starts fucking up in earnest, up and up until there's the soft squish of his balls and Kevin swears he's impaled head to toe. “Ride it again, yeah?”

Kevin moans and nods and he's not over the stretch, but you don't get over something like that, not really. He powers through, up and down until Sam's pounding in too like he can't wait, like it's not enough. The chair under them rattles against the window with the effort and the entire library probably knows what's happening. If not the school.

They don't care.

Balance goes and Kevin waits a crash to the ground that doesn't come, because Sam's got him, Sam's holding him up admirably, even after leg day, and it's two steps to the square table where Sam slams him down. The table scrapes incrementally across the worn out carpet, in time with Sam thrusting. Kevin wraps around him, clings on for the ride everywhere he can.

“You okay?” Sam asks, “You like this? Like getting fucked like this?”

He does, he does but he can't say anything. Sam's fucking the breath out of him, making him forget words and himself and everything else besides the big body blocking out everything and pounding into him with a new desperation.

It is, Kevin concludes, the best thing in the entire universe. The best feeling. He's breathless and throbbing and lost except for Wesson ad he knows Sam's got him, knows it down to his bones. Doesn't even care that he's not hard again, too overwhelmed probably, but it's just as satisfying this way.

Sam comes again after time uncharted, deeper this time, all the way in with a sweet whine. He doesn't move, blankets Kevin and stays until they're kissing again and things threaten to pick right back up from there.

There's only a minute of tender respite before Kevin's schedule flickers his brain alive again; he doesn't have time for this, god help them, he has to get home and have a shower, cram dinner down and go tutor his cousin for an hour and then get started on his own work but jesus christ, all he wants is to lay here under Sam, to feel that throb and their breaths swirling together.

He shudders out a sigh and unwinds from around Sam's big body, feels boneless and tense all at once, overly aware he's naked and there's nothing but frosted glass and a thin wall separating him from the busy library. But Sam's naked too, moving careless, stretching his arms so they hit the ceiling, so he's all sinew and muscle and an actual god. He has to be.

“Y'know, I'm gonna drive you home with two loads inside you. How's that feel?” He grins, waggles his eyebrows like a world class pervert while he tugs a fresh shirt over his torso from the stash of clean clothes in his bag.

Kevin flushes anew, half-turns while he throws his clothes back on. “It feels good, actually. Kinda cool.”

“Mm. You're gonna send me pics when you get home,” Sam says, doesn't ask. He pulls navy sweats up over his mile long legs, his skinny hips, and then grabs Kevin again, shirt-first, into the warmth of his chest. “Gonna send me pics where you're fingering yourself, and my load's still there. You're gonna get off thinking about it.”

Kevin shudders against the embrace and the filth but he nods because yeah, yes, he is going to send those pictures. He can't wait.

Sam drives him home slower than normal, holds his hand over the armrest dividing them, or else grasps at his thigh, his hand hot even through denim.

This time, Sam kisses him in the driveway, ruffles his hair, grabs a handful of his jacket, breaks apart like he doesn't want to let go. He groans and pouts, puppy of a grown man.

Kevin kisses him again, grabs at his shirt and his face and fuck, he wants to cancel the rest of his schedule forever and ever to just do _this_ , to stay here and be with this sweet sweet giant of a man. “I'll text you, okay?” he promises, breathless, dizzy with this.

Sam nods, quick, huffs out a quick sigh and playfully shoves Kevin into the door. “Go before I don't let you. Go before I fuck up your entire schedule for the rest of the day.”

Big brown eyes and that sweet smile and Kevin thinks he might tear his whole schedule up, just for Sam Wesson.

 


End file.
